


Of Impending Happiness

by coricomile



Series: Twins! [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Incest, M/M, Threesome, Twincest, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hate being compared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Impending Happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [О грядущем счастье](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164432) by [eivery_al](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eivery_al/pseuds/eivery_al)



They hate being compared. 

Pete's spent yearscataloging every inch of them, every freckle and every scar, knows each part of both of them like his favorite books. He's still overwhelmed when he sees them together, can never get over the initial jolt of _identical_. From their thick mouths to their annoyed voices, everything shouts _sameness_ no matter how they fight it. 

"You're doing it again," Martin says, throwing a leg over Pete's thighs. There's peroxide marks on his forehead, right under his freshly dyed hair. He slides a smooth hand across Pete's stomach and ignores Patrick's frustrated sound from behind him. 

"It's a compliment," Pete says. He touches the swell of Martin's bare hip, pulling him closer. Martin tastes like soda, sweet and sharp. He bites at Pete's mouth, laughing when he pulls away. "You two make me speechless." 

"You're such a fucking creep," Patrick says. Pete doesn't have to look up to know that he's tugging his shirts off one at a time, slow and easy like they've got all the time in the world. Martin's fast and compliant; Patrick likes being the last word. 

Pete hums idly, spreading his thighs under Martin's. There's no use denying the truth. 

Years ago, they'd played him like a sucker. Switched him back and forth like a toy to be shared. It took him months to figure it out, to notice the tiny differences in them. Part of him is still sore about it, feels kind of used. (Part of him wonders if they're sore too, that it took him so long.)

Patrick squeezes between Pete and the headboard, all knees and rough hands and soft huffs. Martin offers no assistance, squirming impatiently on Pete's knees. He's too heavy for it, digs Pete's legs into the mattress painfully, but Pete just holds onto him, leaning in to press his lips to the gentle pulse at the base of Martin's throat. 

Like this, smashed inelegantly between them, Pete feels whole and happy and a little giddy. It isn't fair to them, not really. They deserve to be loved as individuals (and he does, he does, loves Patrick for his heart and his talent, loves Martin for his mind and his easy sense of humor) but Pete loves them unashamedly as a whole. 

"Stop thinking," Patrick says, warm against Pete's ear. Pete can feel the tempos of their hearts beating, deep in his skin. 

"You're so bossy," Martin says. He slides his hand up over Pete's chest, over his shoulder. Slips the tips of his fingers into Patrick's mouth. Pete can't see it, but he can hear the slick sound of Patrick's tongue moving against them.

Pete stays still, leaned back against the broadness of Patrick's chest. If he's good, they'll give him a show. (If he's bad, he'll still get a show, but then he'll be left aching and alone, left with nothing but the impression of them sinking into one another.) They rub against him at the same tempo, Patrick's hardness at the small of his back, Martin's digging into his thigh. Pete wonders if they do it on purpose, or if it's just innate. 

Martin reaches for him first. Martin always reaches for him first, needier than Patrick. The world knows Pete loves Patrick. Patrick gets the kisses in front of the fans and the endless praise voiced on blogs and radio and printed down for anyone who cares to read. He pretends to shy away from it all, acts like Pete's over the top. But Pete knows. 

("When we're together," Martin had said once, mouth against Pete's thigh. "Do you pretend I'm him?" He'd slid his mouth across Pete's skin like sin, made himself softer. Younger.

"Never."

If he could, Pete would let the world see how much he loves Martin too.) 

Pete arches into Martin's slick hand. He wants it all, everything. Wants to stay in this bed with the two of him until he dies. Patrick kisses what he can reach of Pete's jaw, hums softly like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. 

Martin jerks him off to the rhythm of Patrick's voice. Everywhere they're touching him is too hot. Sweat slips between his back and Patrick's belly, slicks the spaces under Martin's thighs. Pete doesn't want to get off like this, but Martin's palm is smooth and he's had just as many years studying Pete. 

"Wait," he chokes out, hand wrapping around Martin's wrist. "I want-" 

"Later," Patrick says. He runs rough fingers over Pete's chest, leaves a raised trail with his thumbnail. "Promise." His free hand joins up with Martin's, slides tight and sure over Pete's dick. 

He's helpless for them, unable to be demanding when they've got something up their sleeves. He comes over their linked fingers, hips trapped under Martin's weight when they try to buck up.

They pet him and coddle him and laugh with their identical voices every time he so much as twitches. Pete whines when Martin moves away from him, makes a pathetic sound when Patrick rolls him gently to the side. With the press of them gone, Pete feels almost frozen. 

The view of Patrick's ass crawling away from him is a pretty decent consolation prize. Pete forces his wobbly arms to lift him up, shifting until he's sitting in the warm spot Patrick left behind. Martin shoves Patrick down, wrestles him to the mattress until he's laid out flat. They're the same pale, melting into each other. 

"Watch," Martin says. Two pairs of blue eyes look up at him, double vision grins make his chest ache.

And when Martin kisses Patrick, their infinite loop closing and sucking Pete in, Pete thinks sameness and complexity and his. (Together or apart, they'll always be his.)

**Author's Note:**

> In my never ending search for What to Write for BBB 2012, this is so far reigning champion. Yes? No? Would you read 20, 000 words of the Stump twins learning how to share Pete? Does anyone even read Patrick fic anymore?


End file.
